


Emotion Compilation

by imaginationtherapy



Series: The Kaleidoscope Project [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotions, Mental Illness, Panic, Poems, Poetry, bipolar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 15:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: Why am I not just pure, reasoning logic? Why must you look at me, see that I am a woman, and conclude that I am naturally this way? Why can you not see me?





	Emotion Compilation

**Author's Note:**

> The following writings are based on a book of poetry writing exercises. First, you write an “American Sentence” (a variation of haiku). Next, you free write based on that sentence. Then you write a metaphor and/or a metaphorical poem. You then write a condensed version, shortening everything to the “bare bones”. The last stage was a “wildly extravagant exaggeration”. I never got to the final stage, mostly because my writings felt wild and extravagant already.

**(American Sentence)**  
Hate these feelings, tears for no reason—why am I not just pure logic. 

**(Free Write)**   
I hate being a being so full of emotions. Why do I have to feel so damn much? Why do I have to care so damn much? Why do I fly so high and then crash and burn? Why do little things upset me? And why is it bad to be emotional? Why is it my fault all the time? Why do I have to toughen up? Why can’t you soften up? Why is it that those who cry, feel deeply, laugh, love, care, sympathize—why are we the ones that get in trouble. Can’t I just care? Can’t I just feel? I wonder if I hate my emotions, myself, because society tells me I shouldn’t. 

But really…why do I get upset over cars and can’t-gos? I literally hate feeling so much. I’m not even sure I enjoy loving so deeply. But I hate feeling numb. A nice even keel, somewhere between cheerful and sad. Not flying high and not crashing in flames. I don’t like sine waves this much. I don’t even like hating my own emotions this much. Perhaps I really hate the fact that they aren’t logical. I think that’s it…crying over a death is logical. Crying for no reason or a tiny provocation makes no sense. Being excited over a new love interest is logical. Being sad because----hell, who knows. I hate emotions. They aren’t logical or predictable. I hate being judged for them:

Irrational. Sensitive. Woman. Moody.

You think I want to be like this? Hell no. About the only good thing I get out of this is these poems. Ahh, the tortured artist. At least…I guess there’s some good. And you know what I really hate? That I have to pretend I don’t feel. I never can pretend enough. I thought I was doing good but nope. “I don’t want to hear it”. I’m sorry for living. I’m sorry for trying to give voice to my emotions before they drown me. I’m sorry I’m such a bitch. I don’t’ meant o be. I shouldn’t be like this.

Damn.  
I hate emotions.  
I almost hate me.

**(Metaphorical American Sentence)**

I feel like a whirlwind, a teasing wave, a splatter board the first time someone tried to make it.

**(Metaphorical Poem)**  
_Modern Art_  
I’m beautiful—they say—but I’m too provocative.  
I say too much, my colors too bold.  
It’s glaring—the contrast between dark  
And light.  
I’m not comforting. I’m too wild.

I’m beautiful—they say—but I have no form.  
The lines are random, blotches unformed.  
I’m erratic—no patterns to follow  
Or find.  
I don’t make sense. It’s all my fault.

I’m beautiful—they say—but I should change.  
No one relates. No one comprehends.  
Of course that’s my fault.  
I’m starting to believe them  
I don’t belong in this  
Museum.  
The colors, these lines, I hate them.  
I hate me.

Unless it’s their eyes.

 

**(Condensed)**  
_Woman_

You’re too sensitive.  
You cry too easily.  
Stop laughing.  
You shouldn’t care this much.  
Don’t complain, it’s your own fault.  
I’m drowning inside.  
You’re so irrational  
I hate myself.  
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.  
Can’t I just be me?


End file.
